


gifts

by plantyourtreeswithme_archive (plantyourtreeswithme)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn has panic attacks, M/M, space boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme_archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The black fighter sunk beneath the sand, and he was left standing in front of what remained with two gifts: a beige jacket with a red patch, and a name.</i>
</p><p>
  <strong>WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM <i>STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS</i>. READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED IF YOU HAVEN'T YET SEEN THE MOVIE.</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	gifts

FN-2187 was all he had ever been, and likely all he would ever be. He would die before he made an impact on the universe, killed by some Resistance ally that saw stormtroopers as the sheer representation of evil.

Nines (FN-2199) and Zeroes (FN-2000) used to mock him for wanting to leave a mark on the planet, telling he had false hopes and meaningless dreams. But Slip (FN-2003) occasionally assured him that he wasn't crazy for wanting to  _do_ something.

The First Order was all Eight-Seven (FN-2187) had ever known - no snatches of parents or a family had been retained, just a few memories of cadet training and one or two moments of pride.

 

* * *

 

Slip (FN-2003) smeared something horribly wet on Eight-Seven's (FN-2187) mask, three red lines obscuring the vision in his left eye. It reminded him of paint; not that he had ever seen anybody painting, but that was how he imagined paint was applied. A few dabs of it spread across the surface being painted, messy fingers pulling away from a wall or a floor (that, of course, was where he imagined you would paint something; slowly and gently, gradually transforming the surface into something completely different than before).

He would not kill. He would not shoot. He would  _not_.

 _As soon as I get out of this hellhole,_ FN-2187 swore to himself,  _I'm going to get a place of my own and paint the whole thing. Ceiling, floor, everything. I don't care if it takes me a decade to do._

 

* * *

 

Kylo Ren was staring at him - and oh, god, if looks could kill.

The blaster bolt, which had been suspended in the air for fifteen long minutes, collided with the tower in the middle of the demolished village.

 

* * *

 

Breakdown.

FN-2187 was having a panic attack for the first time in his life.

His chest was tight, constricting his breath. The sweat felt heavy on his face, running down his forehead and blurring his vision. His breaths came in trembling wheezes, reminiscent of a death rattle.

 

* * *

 

"Why are you helping me?"

FN-2187 answered without hesitation. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Damn it, he was gorgeous. Dried blood had dripped down his temples and was caked in his sideburns, and his forehead was shining with sweat, a confused, blazing look in his eyes.

They didn't even know each others' names, but the sexual tension between them was almost tangible.

"You need a pilot," the man realized.

"I need a pilot."

 

* * *

 

"Okay, stay calm, stay calm," FN-2187 muttered to himself, hoping that the prisoner couldn't hear him through his helmet. He was on the verge of another panic attack, and he could  _not_ break down in front of this insanely good-looking man.

"I  _am_ calm."

"I'm talking to myself," he said, embarrassed that he had been heard.

The prisoner turned to look at him with a concerned expression on his face, but didn't question him.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, what's your name?" the unrealistically-gorgeous man called from behind him.

"FN-2187!"

"F - what?"

"It's the only name they ever gave me," he replied, surveying the controls around him and urging himself to  _not touch any buttons_ \- he'd never flown or gunned a TIE fighter before, and if he did anything wrong, their entire escape would fall into shambles.

"Well, I ain't usin' it," the pilot continued. "'FN', huh? Finn - I'm gonna call you Finn. Is that all right?"

A name.

He had never had one, but he  _liked_ it.

"Yeah, 'Finn'," Finn said. "I like that. I like that!"

"I'm Poe, Poe Dameron," came the reply.

"Good to meet you, Poe."

"Good to meet you, too, Finn!"

 

* * *

 

All he could see was sand, and it was lighting his eyes on fire.

_"POE!"_

 

* * *

 

The black fighter sunk beneath the sand, and he was left standing in front of what remained with two gifts: a beige jacket with a red patch, and a name. 

The gorgeous, mysterious Resistance pilot, Poe Dameron, his only friend, was dead.

 _Maybe it could've amounted to something more,_ Finn - he would have to get used to that - thought grimly,  _if he'd survived._

But no, the odds that Poe had felt the same connection in return had to be something crazy, like... 3,720 to 1.

~~He couldn't help but think that it was his fault Poe had died, though. There must have been something he could have done to make their escape easier, stealthier, less noticeable...~~

 

* * *

 

"I didn't think there was this much green in the whole galaxy," Rey said breathlessly.

She was beautiful and innocent, the wonders of the universe all new to her, and Finn knew he should probably be in love with her...

But he couldn't get damn Poe Dameron out of his head.

 

* * *

 

"Come with me," he begged.

"Don't go," Rey countered.

_I can't. I'm going to find Poe Dameron again._

 

* * *

 

"Traitor!"

 _I am_ not _._

 

* * *

 

_"REY!"_

Her name burned his throat. He had screamed it too loudly, much too loudly for someone that probably should be, but wasn't, in love with her.

 

* * *

 

"That's one hell of a pilot!"

_That's one hell of a pilot._

 

* * *

 

The orange-clad pilot looked up at BB-8's encouraging beeps, his eyes meeting Finn's immediately.

"Poe!"

He got to his feet from where he had been kneeling next to BB-8, a look of disbelief mixed with joy on his face as he ran towards Finn. He broke into a run himself, excitement coursing through his veins. 

"Poe Dameron! You're alive!"

 _"Buddy!"_ Poe shouted, wrapping his arms around Finn in a hug that nearly sent his heart out of his throat. Finn hugged him back instinctively (he honestly didn't know how he had done it - he'd never hugged someone in his  _life_ before). Words spilled out of their mouths about how they had survived the crash on Jakku, but Finn honestly wasn't paying attention to what they were saying; he was too enamored by Poe's  _face_...

"You completed my mission, Finn -" Poe suddenly stopped talking, glancing Finn up and down. "That's my jacket." Finn immediately started to pull it off, but Poe stopped him, saying, "No, no, no, no. Keep it. It suits you."

Poe bit his lip and tapped Finn's shoulder with his fist.

 _Like what you see?_ Finn thought, barely suppressing a smirk.

"You're a good man, Finn," Poe continued, and Finn couldn't help but notice that his cheeks were pink.

 

* * *

 

He brushed against Poe's shoulder as he stepped around the table projecting the hologram, and oh, how he was  _longing_ to touch him again, to grasp his hands tightly, to press a kiss to his lips...

 

* * *

 

Han Solo, living legend, fell into the misty depths below, and Rey was crying, and all Finn could think was  _Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron, you'd better be alive and fighting so I can kiss the hell out of you when we get back..._

 

* * *

 

_"TRAITOR!"_

Why did everyone keep calling him that?

He pressed his finger down on the activation button with such ferocity that he even surprised himself. He was strangely tranquil - by now, he should be having a panic attack - the mere presence of Poe's sandy-colored jacket calming to him.

"That lightsaber belongs to  _me_ ," Ren snarled, holding his own at arm's length.

"Come and get it."

Dangerous? Yes. Suicidal? Maybe... definitely... yes.

But it was something that crazy Resistance pilot, Poe Dameron, would do  ~~and admire~~.

 

* * *

 

The side of Ren's lightning-like, flaming lightsaber - the part that the Sith had fashioned to stick out like the hilt of a sword - burned into Finn's shoulder, and he cried out, the pain agonizing.

_You tore the jacket, son of Solo._

A few more strikes, and he was sprawled in the snow, the weapon given to him by Maz Kanata turning off. The tip of Kylo Ren's red lightsaber cut deep into Finn's skin, and it felt like his back was being set on fire.

And all he could think was that Kylo Ren was ruining one of the best gifts he'd ever received, tearing it to shreds...

 

* * *

 

_He dreamt of Poe Dameron's face and tousled curls, and how he would be waiting for Finn when he woke up._


End file.
